You could've asked me to do the same - to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned. But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.

Not what will happen - what will you do. Your past is not yet lost. Your future is not yet fixed.

Go on. Give the worgs some Booze! They'll love it.

But loneliness that deep gets into the marrow. Now that I’m here - among friends - I can feel it burning out of me. Little by little, step by step.

I love this time of year. The dickheads start popping up.